


The Cerberus Curse

by Kaye_Fraser



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Coffee Shops, Full Shift Werewolves, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, Meet-Cute, Minor Original Character(s), Royalty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24709774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaye_Fraser/pseuds/Kaye_Fraser
Summary: All Stiles wanted was to go about his daily life like any regular person: graduate from college, find a job, and maybe get to know the cute guy he'd bumped into at the coffee shop a little better.  What he did not want was to become was some revered deity for the dead.  But hey, a guy can't have it all, right?
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 6
Kudos: 61
Collections: Sterek Goodness





	The Cerberus Curse

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, dear readers!
> 
> Just a quick personal warning for this story: This was just an idea floating around in my head, and I hadn't planned on writing it yet, because it wasn't fully developed. However, because the Sterek bingo board came out and I'm just two themes ('Turning' and 'Full Shift') away from a bingo, I thought I'd just write up this chapter really quick (so it's still pretty rough, sorry!), which would cover my two missing squares. So, please be forewarned that it may be a while before I'll continue with this story, and that it may sit in WIP for some time. Read at your own discretion. :)
> 
> Thanks!
> 
> K.

Stiles didn’t believe in fate. Maybe a series of coordinated coincidences, sure, but not fate. Take that morning, for instance. Yes, he’d been running late to his coffee meetup with Scott, rushing to his semi-reliable jeep and juggling his wallet in his mouth, his jacket on one shoulder, and his messenger bag on the other, when he’d heard screeching brakes and what sounded like a bad fender bender about a street over. He wouldn’t have heard it had he been on time. But that was neither here nor there. As it was, he’d managed to slide into his car and drive a whole two and a half blocks before he had to stop for a chicken to cross the road. Like, a literal chicken. Or rather, chickens. Several had been clucking aimlessly around the street in a cloud of fluff and feathers. 

Again, had he been on time, he might not have witnessed a clichéd joke enact itself out in real life right before his eyes. He, and a few other drivers who’d been halted by the unforeseen poultry stop, had exited their cars, scratching their heads as they looked for the owner of said chickens. They’d found the ‘owner’ half a street away trying to round up the fleeing fowls, his truck having jumped the curb into a light standard while his cargo of live chickens made a run for it like it was the Great Escape. The other bystanders had tried to help, as had Stiles, at first. But that was when he’d noticed the little old lady making her way across the street nearby with her reusable grocery bag in hand. And he had also noticed a lone chicken run out in front of an oncoming car a bit further down, which had caused more screeching and one more out-of-control vehicle to come into the picture. And had Stiles not been the closest person to the old lady at the time, he wouldn’t have been able to swoop in, and literally carry her to safety as the car careened by to a stop several feet away.

Which brought him to now, staring down at his open palm as the little old lady in her fuzzy pink cardigan pressed a coin into it as a thank you for saving her life. He’d gathered her dropped groceries, and was trying to give it back to her along with the coin. “Please, it was nothing. I was just in the right place at the right time,” he said pleasantly.

The woman adjusted her oversized glasses and pushed away his hand with the coin. “No, young man, you deserve that. It was meant to be, and I think you’ve more than earn it.”

“But –“ 

She made a motion with her hand that caused Stiles to shut right up. He blamed it on his proper upbringing and having a sheriff as a dad. Always listen to one’s elders (unless the elder was his dad, which was a footnote that Stiles had mentally added when he was nine). “I’m hearing none of it. That is yours, by right, young man. Now, thank you very much for everything you’ve done. I can see that you’ve been raised right, and that you have a great future ahead of you.” She took the repacked grocery bag from him before he could protest further, and smiled kindly. “I wish you all the luck in your next big adventure.”

And with that, she started to walk away. He opened his mouth to protest, but all that came out was a “You’re welcome!”

And that was that. He pocketed the coin, and started back to his car, all the while debating whether he should message Scott about being even more late. He decided against it, and booked it – as safely as possible, of course – to the coffee shop. By the time he entered the mecca of caffeinated goodness, Scott had texted back. As luck – not fate – would have it, Scott was detained at work because the vet clinic was expecting an unexpected influx of chickens, and he was sorry but he had to cancel. Stiles blinked down at his phone. Huh, go figure.

But, since he’d made it all the way into the shop, he wouldn’t let the opportunity go to waste. He lined up behind three other customers, and waited patiently for his turn. He was about forty minutes late for his original meet-up with Scott, and had just managed to come in during a small rush. But he had nowhere pressing to be, so he indulged himself by selecting a snack to go with his drink as he waited. Once he put in his order, and had a slice of chocolate chip banana bread along with two fudge cookies in hand, he moved down the line to wait for his specialty beverage like any good coffee citizen.

When he heard his name called along with two others, he readily walked up to the counter and grabbed his drink. But as he turned away and started to look for a table, he felt a tap on his shoulder. And in that moment, when he turned to look at who had stopped him, he swore he heard choirs of angels sing, because holy fuck, the guy who stood before him was like a gift to humanity. Thick, dark hair, piercing eyes of indiscriminate color, and a slight stubbled jawline that would make sculptors weep with joy … yup, that was what stood in front of Stiles. He wondered if his mouth was agape like an asthmatic goldfish, because that would be so like him and his luck with first impressions.

“Sorry, but I think you grabbed my drink,” the man said as he held up another cup. 

Stiles looked down at the cup in his hand and saw the name ‘Dirk’ scrawled on it. “Oh, oops, my bad. Here.” He held out the drink, and they readily swapped their orders. 

He expected that to be the end of it, the end of his brief encounter with physical perfection, but he realized, as he was heading toward the last available table in the shop, that ‘Dirk’ was headed that way as well. He picked up his pace. But then, so did Dirk. They both got to the table at the same time, pulling out opposing chairs and sitting down across from each other like it was a synchronized Olympic event.

“Uh, share?” Stiles offered weakly, because there was no way he would purposely turn down the chance to stare at Mr. Wet Dream for a bit longer.

The other man looked hesitant for a moment, and then, he quietly nodded. Stiles gave his tablemate one of his best smiles, the one he hoped made him look endearing and charming, but really, it wouldn’t surprise him if he came across more like a demented hyena.

“So … you okay if I …?” He began to pull his laptop out of his bag, and gave Dirk an expectant look.

The other man waved in agreement. “Yeah, sure.”

“Thanks. I’m Stiles, by the way. Thought it would be polite to introduce myself since we’re sharing a table and all.” He held out his hand.

Dirk looked at it as if it was some alien appendage. He’d probably come to the shop for some quiet time, and hadn’t wanted to be bothered. 

Smooth, Stiles, smooth. It shouldn’t be much of a surprise that he’d weirded out probably the hottest guy he would ever meet. And yeah, this wasn’t awkward at all, him sitting there with his arm outstretched. “And you’re … Dirk?”

His tablemate finally put him out of his misery, and shook his hand, although those impressive eyebrows did furrow in confusion. “Huh?”

Stiles pointed at the guy’s drink. “It’s on your cup.”

The man glanced down at it, and let out a quiet laugh. “Derek. My name’s Derek.”

Okay, well, that definitely suited the guy more. “Nice to meet you, Derek,” he said conversationally as he set his laptop onto the table. “New in town? Beacon Hills isn’t big, and its selection of good coffee shops is even smaller, so I tend to see the same faces in here. Yours … yours is new, because I would for sure remember seeing it.”

As far as pick-up lines went, that was maybe a 1.5 out of ten – maybe a two if he was being generous. He was pretty pathetic.

To his relief, Derek didn’t outright laugh in his face. He just simply took a sip of his drink, and shrugged. “Not really. I grew up here, but moved away about ten years ago. Just moved back with my siblings temporarily. Some family business to take care of.”

Well, that was promising. The guy was a local, and wasn’t just passing through. Hello, summer lovin’! “Well, welcome home, I guess. Beacon Hills may be small, but it does have a certain charm. Very … homey, I think. You sticking around, or just visiting?”

Derek leaned back in his seat, and gave his response some thought. “Not sure yet. There are still some family discussions needed before we decide to stay here or go back.”

“Go back? Back where?” Stiles knew he was being nosy and presumptuous, but they had a dialogue going, and far be it for him to waste a chance to get to know a hot guy he was really attracted to.

“New York.”

That had his interest even more now. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, all eager. “Really? I’ve been looking at some internships there for next year. I’m one year away from graduating, and have to start weighing my career options. Tell me about the city. Food, nightlife, neighborhoods … like everything!”

And that was how he spent the rest of his morning: chatting away with a guy and his model good looks over coffee, banana bread, and two cookies. There were worse ways of wasting a beautiful, summer’s day, he supposed. And when Derek had to leave, the new phone number that ended up on Stiles’ phone wasn’t a result of fate, or kismet, or destiny, or whatever. It was simply from a series of coordinated coincidences.

(***)

Later that day, after a fruitless hour of scouring online boards for a summer job, Stiles returned home to an empty house. Not surprising, given his dad had the day shift, but it did mean that he had to occupy himself somehow for a few hours before he had to start on dinner. And so, he decided to change into a comfortable t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts, slip on his running shoes, and go for a jog in the nearby Preserve.

He and Scott had played and ran through the trails there countless times during their teenage years, so he knew the routes well. He’d never felt particularly unsafe or uncomfortable moving amongst the tall trees, the dense bush, and the fallen branches. But today … today, for some odd reason, something felt off.

There was an odd prickle on the back of his neck, the fine hairs standing on end, and the clenching inside his stomach, similar to the nervousness he’d felt when he’d had to sing that solo during his fifth-grade talent show. Something didn’t feel right, and as the kid of a copy, he knew better than to ignore his gut instincts.

He stopped in the middle of a well-worn path, and carefully assessed his surroundings. Nothing looked or sounded out of the ordinary. Just green as far as he could see. His own breathing echoed in his ears, interspersed with the rustling of the leaves, and the occasional bird call. But he couldn’t shake that sensation – the sense of being watched.

“Hello?” he called out.

No response.

“Is anyone there?” he asked. He felt a bit silly, talking to no one, but he wasn’t sure what else to do.

Then, he heard it: a whisper, or several whispers of a conversation, carried on the breeze.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” he repeated, heart now beating wildly in his chest. “I can hear you, you know. If this is some kids playing a prank, I’ll have you know that I’ve done them all! Hell, I invented a few!”

There! There was a definite non-wind rustle off to his right. And because he was Stiles, and had no sense of self-preservation, he chased after the sound. He stumbled a few times, bushwhacking off the beaten path, but the further into the trees he went, the more he swore he heard the faint whispers, and a muted laugh. He didn’t know what he expected to find – some kids maybe, or perhaps some woodland creatures like a raccoon or a squirrel – but it wasn’t until he broke through into a clearing that he stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide and heart in his throat.

Because standing in that clearing were three individuals: one tall and lanky gentleman who looked like he’d stepped off a Mozart biopic, one short and rotund man in a toga that would’ve put a college party to shame, and one regal, dark-skinned woman in a long, flowing gown. Now, while the odd array of individuals should’ve sounded alarm bells for anyone walking through the woods, what tipped the scale was the translucent quality to their presence. As in, Stiles could actually see right through them!

He screamed. He may or may not have screamed like a panicked teenage girl who’d discovered a pimple on prom night. After that, he turned around in a flail of uncoordinated limbs, and booked it out of there. The problem was, he didn’t see the low-hanging branch about four feet away, which meant that he couldn’t avoid being clotheslined by it … or getting knocked out cold by it.

(***)

“He’s still human.”

“Not entirely. Not anymore. He’s changing. He can see us.”

“Well, he’s a rather pathetic excuse for a leader, if you ask me.”

“What do the young ones say now? Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Oh, look, he’s waking up.”

Stiles slowly regained consciousness to a trio of unfamiliar voices. At first, he was disoriented, head throbbing, wondering if he was battling some massive hangover after an epic night out or something, but then, it slowly started to trickle back: his run, the voices … the motherfucking ghosts! He sat up faster than he should have, causing a dizzy spell that made him wish for the blessed release of oblivion again, but it eventually passed, and he opened his eyes, cautiously, hesitantly.

“How are you feeling, Your Majesty?” That was a female voice, accented, not particularly unkind, but very cordial-sounding.

He blinked and saw the three individuals again, only this time, they seemed more solid, more real. Maybe what he’d witnessed before was a result of his overactive imagination. After all, his adrenalin had been pretty high. Maybe these people were just lost in the woods on their way to a costume party, and he was the weird one who’d freaked out over nothing. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Then, he realized the three strangers were staring at him expectantly, as if waiting for an answer. “Uh, hi,” he croaked, feeling a bit ill-at-ease with the attention. “You guys talking to me?”

“Well, who else would we be talking to?” the balding man in the ancient Roman attire answered. That earned him a slap on the arm from the powdered gentleman in the wig and frock coat.

“My apologies, Your Majesty,” the man said with a slight French lilt. “It seems Augustus has forgotten his manners. We were just concerned about your well-being.”

Stiles looked back and forth between the trio – or rather, the _crazy_ trio – hovering over him. Why were they talking to him like they knew him? And why were they referring to him as ‘Your Majesty’? He shuffled an inch backwards, away from the three, in a slow-motion imitation of a reverse crab walk. “Um, yeah, sorry, guys, I – I think I took a wrong turn b-back there,” he stuttered out. “I’ll just, you know, leave you guys to do whatever you were doing. In the middle of the woods. In period costume. Alone.”

“Oh, Jupiter’s Balls, he’s a simpleton,” the Roman guy – Augustus – threw his hands up in defeat.

Stiles tensed. He took offence to that, thank you very much! “Hey, who are you calling simple? I’ll have you know that I graduated second in my class in high school, after only Lydia, which, basically means I came in first because no mortal can come in ahead of Lydia. And I’ve – ”

“What I think Augustus means, Your Majesty,” the woman interrupted him in a clear, calm voice, “was that you may still be unaware of your change in circumstances.”

Stiles continued to back away. “Circumstances? What circumstances? Last I checked, I was still an unemployed college student, looking for a summer job.”

“Oh, on the contrary,” Mr. French Dude interjected. “You’ve been chosen for so much more.”

“Chosen? Like a sweepstakes?”

Augustus rolled his eyes again, and said something in a language that Stiles didn’t recognize. Although, whatever he’d said, it wasn’t very complimentary, because the tone in which it was said required no translation.

“No, Your Majesty,” the elegant lady stepped forward again, her face a mask of calm. “You’ve been chosen by the Fates. You see, there’s been a vacancy in a certain realm for quite some time, and an imbalance of power has formed. We need someone to tip the balance back.”

Stiles laughed nervously, mentally calculating his chances of making it out of here alive. “Realm, like a fantasy realm, with unicorns, and lollipops, and rainbows, and stuff?”

“More like the Underworld,” the French guy corrected. “With tortured souls, and demons, and otherworldly creatures and stuff.”

Holy fuck, these guys were beyond crazy. He told them as much.

The lady moved again, this time to the side, farther away from Stiles, which made him feel a bit better. “Perhaps you just need a bit more convincing.” She snapped her fingers, and before Stiles could even open his mouth to point out that nothing was going to happen, a giant black hole opened up, floating in the air, next to a swirl of fully visible smoke.

What. The. Fuck.

“W-What is that?” he managed to ask, somehow transfixed by the sight.

“The portal to Hell,” Augustus deadpanned, just as an inhuman scream echoed from the hole’s dark depths.

And yeah, that was Stiles’ cue to exit. He pushed himself up, and tried to run away. Only, his nemesis, that stupid low-hanging branch, got him again when he tried to run, and for a second time, he got knocked out cold.

(***)

“I thought you were just going for coffee.”

Laura’s voice stopped Derek in his tracks as he was closing the loft’s door. He shut his eyes for a moment, and swore under his breath before snapping the lock into place.

“I was,” he replied offhandedly. “It was really good coffee.” Not a lie.

He didn’t know why but he didn’t want his sister to find out about his new human friend. There was already so much shit going on in their lives that it had been nice to have a taste of ‘normal’ that morning. And really, he didn’t regret it. His human – and he didn’t know when he’d started to think of Stiles as ‘his human’ – was energy, wit, and sarcasm all wrapped up in pale skin and messy brown hair. Those whisky-colored eyes with that mischievous gleam was just the bow on top. And he smelled … perfect. Like a mix of sugar and rain and sun … and maybe a hint of chicken? Anyway, he’d smelled perfect to Derek, and that as all he needed as proof of character. He hadn’t expressed it, but he’d been ecstatic when they’d exchanged numbers. He didn’t like people in general, so he knew he came across as unapproachable, so to have someone actually _want_ to hang out with him, and someone like Stiles to boot, he was in. For however long they were in Beacon Hills, he was in.

Laura still eyed him suspiciously, and he could smell the doubt oozing off of her. “Where’s Cora?” he asked, hoping to distract his sister with their errant sibling.

“Grocery run. Though, with how long she’s taking, I think she might’ve encountered ‘some really good’ groceries too.”

Derek knew Laura was mocking him, but he let it slide. It was the only way to survive his family sometimes. He walked over to the kitchen counter, tossed his keys on it, and turned to face his sister who hadn’t moved from her comfortable spot on the couch. The unfortunate thing about open concept spaces was the loss of privacy, especially against prying siblings. “So, what did the contractor say? Can the house be salvaged, or are we tearing it all down?”

“He’ll be heading out to do a full assessment tomorrow. He said he didn’t have the right equipment when he went out earlier.”

“Then what? What kind of answer are we hoping for?”

“Then we decide what we want to do.” Laura’s gaze stayed on him, unwavering, as if gauging for a reaction. “You just want it gone, don’t you? Demolish the house, and sell the land?”

Derek shrugged. He’d had many happy memories in their childhood home, but all those good times were tainted with the bad ones now. “I don’t care either way,” he said truthfully.

“It _is_ our legacy. We can’t just abandon it.”

“I know, but – ”

Just then, the whole room went out of focus, and Derek’s world spun. He reached out to the laminate counter behind him to ground himself, only his hands … they clicked against the surface as his claws extended.

“Derek, why are you shifting?”

He looked at his sister, feeling helpless. “I’m not,” he managed to grind out, just as his whole body contorted and reshaped itself. But something was different. His normal shifts didn’t feel this way – so sudden, so powerful, so forceful.

Before he knew it, he was on all fours, looking up at his sister with a sense of astonishment.

Laura’s expression was a combination of shock and awe. “Fuck me, little bro. You went full shift! Like, you’re full-on wolf!” Then, she laughed. “And you’re kinda cute. You have this permanent scowl on your face. I’m fighting the urge to snuggle you right now.”

Derek growled. He wanted to ask what the fuck had happened, but that was the only sound that came out. He’d been able to control his shifts since he was five. This was unheard of. And an uncontrolled full shift too: neither Cora nor him nor even Laura, their Alpha, had ever been able to do that.

Laura still understood the intent of his growl though. “I don’t know what might’ve brought this on. We’d have to do some research. There might be something in the family archives. Maybe …” She stopped, as if recalling something and needing time to process it. “Hey, do you remember those bedtime stories Mom used to tell us? The one about a family cursed, bound to serve the whims of some Underworld overlord? That family could fully shift, if I’m remembering right.”

Derek did his best to nod, though he wasn’t sure how successful he was.

“You know, there could be some truth to it. If anything, it’s a place to start. What did Mom call it …?”

Derek hoped that question was rhetorical because in his current state, he couldn’t legitimately answer. He was getting a bit frustrated; the sooner they figured out what had happened, the sooner they could fix it! As much as he was trying, he couldn’t seem to shift back. He growled again, trying to convey his loss of patience.

Laura straightened, as if she had the epiphany she’d been waiting for. “Oh, yeah, I remember now. The story she told, I think she called it The Cerberus Curse!”


End file.
